Age of Blood

18

Walker saw Yank turn a man into a pretzel, then hurl him to the street below. But he didn’t have a moment to admire Yank’s graceful martial-arts skills. Instead, Walker ducked a knife to his own face, then brought his hand up and grabbed his attacker’s throat, simultaneously pulling and squeezing, until his opponent had no choice but to drop his weapon and try and free himself. Walker kicked out, sending him twisting to the street to join his cohort. He landed with a wet sound and didn’t move again.

Walker wasn’t sure how the attackers had made it to the roof. Although it was really too much area for two men to cover, they should have noticed. Probably the combination of the activity on the streets and listening to the interrogation near the pool had conspired to create the perfect window for the attackers to pass through. They’d survived this time, but the next time they might not be so lucky.

Walker heard the sound of gunshots from below, which meant they, whoever they were, were trying to breach the front gate. The shots weren’t suppressed and sounded like nines.

“Ghost proper, this is Ghost Four, we have beegees on all sides, closing in. Recommend regrouping at point Bravo.”

“All Ghost, this is Ghost proper, bug out. I repeat, bug out to point Bravo.”

It was now officially every man for himself. That said, Walker had the sniper rifle and a duty to make sure the other men made it. He scanned the streets, counting five, ten, fifteen bodies moving from the north. Another ten were moving from the south. They’d seriously underestimated the effects of capturing these Mexican mafia facilitators. Triple Six had unintentionally disturbed a narcotrafficking anthill.

Yank dispatched one more man; then he was over the side, carrying his own battle into the streets and alleys.

A burst of nonsuppressed automatic fire blasted through the night like a volcano eruption. Triple Six had arranged to pay the police to look the other way, but this was too much to pretend not to notice. The police would be coming most ricky tick now that the sounds of the battle were carrying toward the tourist areas.

Walker ran across the roof, aiming for the front of the building. He glanced into the courtyard and saw that the ropes had gone slack. All three men were floating in the pool, dead and drowned. Not supposed to have happened.

When he reached the front, he saw a group preparing to rush the doors. He shouldered the rifle and immediately opened fire, taking most of them down in controlled three-round bursts. Those who remained scattered, as the combined weapons of Holmes, Laws, and J.J. forced them back. Seconds later, the three ran out the door and into the street.

Walker lay prone and followed their transit, only once having to fire during their retreat to stop a pursuer.

The others had escaped. The only problem was that he was alone now. He collected the alarms and shoved them into a pack. He glanced again into the courtyard to see if he’d missed anything. He’d yet to see Ramon, but that guy had a way of moving faster than expected. Except for the three bodies, the courtyard was empty. Strange that they were dead. It wasn’t like anyone on the team to kill so indiscriminately. He found his way to the back side of the roof, and after checking, let himself down. He crept to the corner and looked out. A single man stood in the middle of the road preparing to fire at the backs of Holmes and the others. But as Walker watched, a blur ran into the man, slowed to momentarily reveal the figure of Ramon, then sped on. The man stood for a moment, then fell, a knife solidly in his back.